The Baby Jackpot
They Know Everything About Babies…
So why is recently single Stacy Layne suddenly on the mommy
fast track? As Safe Harbor Medical’s first successful egg donor, she should have
known better. That goes double (or should she say
triple?
) for Cole Rattigan, the country’s leading fertility
surgeon.
Cole prefers the operating room to figuring out what’s going
on inside a woman’s head. But after an unplanned night of passion with his
favorite nurse, the the man who wrote the book on fertility is about to become a
father…three times over!
Stacy not only nixes Cole’s marriage proposal—she plans to
give up the triplets for adoption. Stacy wants to be swept away. Can a man who’s
just discovering his paternal side find the words to let the woman he loves know
how much he cares?
“If you need taking care of, I’m the one to do it.
This pregnancy is as much my responsibility as yours. I’m the
guy who should be your roommate.”
Stacy touched her still-flat abdomen, keenly aware of what
lay inside. Part of her longed to lean against Cole and yield to his guardian
instincts, but she’d learned caution, the hard way. “One disastrous mistake per
relationship is the legal limit. And we used ours when we did this.”
“Why would living together be a mistake?” he pressed.
“Because I’m vulnerable,” she said. “Have you ever fallen in
love?”
He frowned. “Define falling in love?”
Oh, for pity’s sake!
“If you ever
do, you won’t have to ask. It will sweep away everything else like a
wildfire.”
Dear Reader,
While visiting a friend, I was delighted to meet her
daughter-in-law, a nurse who’s an approved egg donor and who generously answered
my questions. What is the process? What are the pitfalls? Why would she, as the
married mother of two children, choose to do this?
In addition to being impressed by her generosity, I was
startled to learn that egg donors have to be very careful during the rest of the
cycle. The harvesting process often misses some eggs, and if they become
pregnant, they could find themselves carrying multiple babies.
Naturally, that implied a story line. Developing it proved a
challenging process, and I hope you enjoy the results.
Nurse Stacy appeared as a secondary character in
The M.D.’s Secret Daughter,
in which she had a crush
on Dr. Zack Sargent. Cole was introduced in the same book and had a few run-ins
with Zack over hospital issues.
Moving them to center stage required deepening and expanding
their characters. Cole especially surprised me. Going inside his head proved a
journey into a rather unusual character. In my ninety earlier novels, I don’t
believe I’ve ever created a hero like him. But then, I don’t feel as if I create
my characters—rather, they reveal themselves to me.
Welcome to Cole and Stacy’s story!
Best,
Jacqueline Diamond
The Baby Jackpot
Jacqueline Diamond
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The author of ninety romances, mysteries, Regencies and
paranormals, Jacqueline Diamond lives in Orange County, California, with her
husband of more than thirty years. Writing about a fertility program at a
medical center draws on Jackie’s long-standing interest in medicine, which began
when her father, then the only doctor in the small Texas town of Menard,
delivered her at home. You can learn more about Jackie and the Safe Harbor
Medical series at
www.jacquelinediamond.com
.
Books by Jacqueline Diamond
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
1046—THE BABY’S BODYGUARD
1075—THE BABY
SCHEME
1094—THE POLICE CHIEF’S LADY
1101—NINE-MONTH
SURPRISE‡
1109—A FAMILY AT LAST‡
1118—DAD BY DEFAULT‡
1130—THE
DOCTOR + FOUR‡
1149—THE DOCTOR’S LITTLE SECRET
1163—DADDY
PROTECTOR
1177—TWIN SURPRISE
1209—THE FAMILY NEXT DOOR*
1223—BABY
IN WAITING*
1242—MILLION-DOLLAR NANNY*
1273—DOCTOR DADDY
1295—THE
WOULD-BE MOMMY**
1320—HIS HIRED BABY**
1335—THE HOLIDAY
TRIPLETS**
1344—OFFICER DADDY**
1358—FALLING FOR THE NANNY
**
1375—THE SURGEON’S SURPRISE TWINS**
1392—THE DETECTIVE’S ACCIDENTAL
BABY**
1400—THE BABY DILEMMA**
1420—THE M.D.’S SECRET DAUGHTER**
‡Downhome Doctors
*Harmony
Circle
**Safe Harbor Medical
Chapter One
Nurse Stacy Layne almost didn’t hear the
anesthesiologist’s question. She disliked chitchat in the operating room,
especially when she was assisting Dr. Cole Rattigan, head of the Safe Harbor
Medical Center men’s fertility program. His intense concentration and focused
skill transformed microsurgery into an event more exciting than any Olympic
competition.
Above the white mask, Cole’s clear brown eyes fixed on the
surgical microscope. Yet she got the sense he was seeing not only the incision
but the whole patient, a man desperately hoping to reverse a vasectomy so he and
his wife could have the children they longed for.
“Isn’t today your birthday, Stacy?” anesthesiologist Rod
Vintner repeated, while keeping one eye on the computer that monitored the
patient’s vital signs.
“Yes,” she said tersely, staying alert for Dr. Rattigan’s next
move. It was her job, and her privilege, to provide him with whatever instrument
he might require almost before he asked for it, so he didn’t break
concentration. To forestall further inquiries, she added, “I’m
twenty-eight.”
“Congratulations, Stacy,” Dr. Rattigan said.
“Thanks.” She beamed.
“Doing anything to celebrate?” Rod asked.
“I’ll see,” she returned noncommittally. Earlier, one of the
nurses had invited a group to join him at a club tonight, but Stacy wasn’t sure
she felt like it. Her birthday didn’t seem important, anyway, compared to the
news she was anticipating. Possibly the most important news of her life.
“The egg bank should be sending flowers and chocolates.”
Amazingly, those words came from Cole Rattigan. Since joining the staff eight
months earlier, the surgeon had maintained a pleasant but impersonal tone with
her and, as far as she could tell, with everyone else. “I hear you’re one of
their first donors. How’s that going?”
She gave a start, her hand nearly bumping the instrument tray.
He’d noticed?
Incredible.
“My couple...” She stopped to swallow, her throat suddenly dry.
“The Barkers should be in Dr. Franco’s office right now, waiting to find out if
they’re pregnant.”
“Isn’t that a first for the program?” Cole inquired.
“Yes. But we aren’t sure yet.”
Oh, please, please, please let Una be
pregnant.
It was hard to explain Stacy’s intense drive to bring babies
into the world, even though they would belong to a couple she’d met only a few
months ago. During Stacy’s five years at Safe Harbor, she’d loved being part of
the excitement as the hospital launched its programs for women’s and men’s
fertility. At first, she’d expected that someday she’d be having her own babies
here, but after her marriage shattered—
detonated
might be a better word—that hope had yielded to hardheaded reality.
It had taken time to get her bearings. Only late last year had
Stacy finally shed her married name, Raditch, for her maiden name, Layne. Then,
at the beginning of this year, when the newly established egg bank began seeking
donors, her purpose in life had fallen into place.
“Hold on.” The surgeon peered through the microscope. “Too much
scar tissue for a vasovasostomy. We’ll just have to work a little harder.”
Fortunately, the more complex alternative procedure, called a
vasoepididymostomy, stood a good chance of succeeding in Dr. Rattigan’s hands.
As he revised his plans, his willpower filled the room with energy.
The rest of the operation flew by with little conversation.
Stacy managed to avoid thinking about Una until the surgery was successfully
concluded, sterile dressings applied, sponges, needles and instruments counted
and disposed of, and her cap, mask and gown removed. Then, finally, she checked
her phone’s screen.
The text said:
We’re mommies!
Mommies.
Standing outside the surgical suite, Stacy felt blood rush to
her head.
Too
soon 2 no how many,
the text continued. Several weeks ago, Una had
been implanted with five of Stacy’s eggs.
Yay!
Stacy texted back, and tried to think of something to add.
Maybe she should call. Yes, she ought to. Since the day she’d decided to donate
eggs, Stacy had dreamed of this moment.
When she met Una and her husband—which was optional for donors
as well as recipients—Stacy had felt an immediate bond with the heavyset woman.
It had strengthened as they’d coordinated their cycles with hormones and
underwent the egg retrieval and implantation procedures.
It was miraculous that Una had conceived on the first try.
I should call her.
The phone trembled in Stacy’s hand.
Babies.
My babies. But they don’t belong to
me.
Abruptly, she felt as if her bones had gone hollow with
longing, and her head began to spin.
“Are you all right?” A firm hand gripped her elbow. She caught
the mingled scents of antiseptic soap and Cole’s cologne, a blend of citrus and
cedar. How embarrassing to have him see her this way.
“Just, um...” She managed to swallow, but no further words
emerged. Her knees liquefying, she swayed toward Cole. When her cheek grazed his
broad shoulder, she registered the smooth texture of his white coat, and felt
his breath lightly ruffle her hair.
Stacy rocked onto her own feet. “Skipped lunch.” A credible
excuse, even though it wasn’t true.
“You sure that’s all it is?” His slightly shaggy eyebrows drew
together in concern. “Might be flu going around.”
“In May?”
His chuckle rumbled reassuringly. “Being from Minnesota, I’m
still waiting for winter to hit. Seems like it’s overdue. I’m sure I’ll get used
to Southern California’s seasons eventually.”
“I’d never risk exposing a patient if I felt ill,” Stacy told
him earnestly. “I’m fine.”
That should have been his cue to stride off in his usual brisk,
distracted manner. Instead, Cole stood regarding her with his head cocked and
his brown hair rumpled from the recently removed surgical cap.
Impulsively, Stacy reached up and tweaked an errant tuft into
place. Realizing how inappropriate that was, she drew her hand back. If he
resented the impertinence, though, Cole gave no sign of it.
“I’d better make sure you get to the cafeteria safely.” His
mouth quirked. “Can’t have my favorite scrub nurse falling and cracking her
head.”
She was his favorite surgical nurse? A velvety awareness
tingled through Stacy. “I’m finished for the day.”
“So I shouldn’t care if you fall and crack your head?”
She ought to tease back, to prove that she’d recovered from her
momentary weakness. Instead, she said, “Well, I do need a bite to eat. If you’re
headed to the cafeteria...”
“Cole! Got a minute?” The masculine demand wasn’t really a
request. Dr. Owen Tartikoff, chief of the fertility department and Cole’s
superior, had a way of appearing out of nowhere and startling everyone.
Especially Stacy. If she found Dr. Rattigan a little intimidating, Dr. Tartikoff
was downright terrifying. From his fiery hair to his piercing eyes, he seemed to
threaten imminent career destruction to anyone who got in his way.
“I’m occupied,” Cole responded calmly.
“I was just leaving.” With a quivery smile, Stacy darted toward
the elevators, leaving the men behind. The last thing she needed was to get
caught in the crossfire between those two titans.
As the doors slid open, she wondered what her problem was. Not
the flu; she didn’t feel sick. Just off-kilter.
She ought to phone Una and invite her out for a nonalcoholic
drink, Stacy mused as she headed toward the nurses’ locker room. But that
unexpected, unwanted, fierce longing to hold her babies in her own arms, to
shelter and nurture them herself, had left her ill at ease.
She leaned against the locker room wall, missing Cole’s
support. Why did Dr. Tartikoff have to come barging in, interrupting their
conversation and acting as if she were invisible? She ought to give him a piece
of her mind.
The ridiculous notion of scolding Dr. Tartikoff restored
Stacy’s sense of humor as she changed into street clothes and collected her
purse. Yet when she reached the ground floor, her footsteps carried her away
from her usual route to the parking garage.
Instead, she followed a walkway that led to a set of bluffside
steps. A late-afternoon stroll on the beach ought to clear her head.
The fact that she also avoided any chance of running into Una
was merely a coincidence.
* * *
C
OLE
KEPT
A
CLOSE
WATCH
on Stacy until the elevator doors closed behind her. Standing for hours in the
operating room required serious stamina. If a surgeon felt his or her blood
sugar dropping, he could call for an assistant to fetch a sandwich or coffee.
Other personnel didn’t have that option.
None of which explained his concern when he saw Stacy start to
crumple in the hallway. Or the fact that he’d so enjoyed holding her steady.
He could still smell the perfume of her hair. It reminded him
of a stroll through the daylily garden in Arneson Acres Park back in
Minnesota.
“...decided to turn it into a lecture series,” Owen Tartikoff
was intoning. “I’ve scheduled you for two weeks from tomorrow.”
As Cole checked the calendar in his phone, his mind filled in
the blanks in what Owen had said. Lecture—that was a clue. A couple of weeks ago
Dr. T. had delivered an outreach talk entitled “Why Is There a Robot in My
Operating Room?” To everyone’s surprise, so many members of the public and press
had showed up that the venue had to be switched from a small lecture hall to the
hospital’s main auditorium.
“What time?” he asked.
“Two o’clock.”
Although Cole preferred presenting papers at medical
conferences to addressing the public, he didn’t object to speaking about his
specialty. “I doubt that advances in men’s fertility surgery will be a big draw,
but...”
“We’re calling it ‘What’s Killing Your Sperm?’” the fertility
chief announced.
“That’s an incendiary title.”
“Exactly.” A grin animated Owen’s lean face. “Men’s fertility
rates are dropping. Hot stuff.” He clapped Cole on the arm. “Glad you’re
free.”
Steamrollered.
Usually Cole marched a step or two ahead of everyone around
him. Not with Owen. Fortunately, Cole had nothing scheduled on the Saturday
afternoon two weeks from tomorrow. If there’d been a conflict, he suspected he’d
have had to cancel it.
He could refuse, of course. Owen’s disapproval wouldn’t bother
him. However, now that he’d begun settling into his new position, a little
publicity wouldn’t hurt. He also hoped to become more involved in the hospital
community. While schmoozing had never been his style, he didn’t like to seem
standoffish, either.
As Dr. T. swung off jauntily, Cole glanced at his watch. Nearly
four o’clock. On the way to his office to deal with the usual accumulation of
email, he decided to stop by the cafeteria and reassure himself that Stacy had
arrived there in one piece.
He took the stairs down from the same-day surgery unit. During
his first few weeks at Safe Harbor, sorting out the locations of various
offices, operating suites, labs and other facilities had been quite a challenge.
The odd layout, Cole had learned, was due to the way the hospital had been
remodeled.
A few years earlier, plans to acquire a nearby dental office
building and convert it into a high-tech fertility wing had fallen through.
Rather than delay establishing its ambitious new programs, the corporation that
owned Safe Harbor had stayed on schedule by converting facilities throughout the
hospital, situating offices, labs and operating suites all over the six-story
structure as well as the medical building next door.
Cole had found it awkward to have to ask directions from the
nearest passing orderly or volunteer. Luckily, the practice of men’s fertility
rarely involved emergencies, so he’d taken the time to study the floor plans
posted on each level. Now not only could he navigate, he often directed other
staffers and visitors.
On the ground level, Cole followed the hallway to the gleaming
cafeteria. The tantalizing scents of barbecue and spices greeted him from the
hot-food station, evidence that the on-site chefs were preparing an early
dinner. A fair number of nurses, orderlies and on-call doctors, including an
obstetrician who worked a regular night shift, remained after most of the staff
went home. No doubt they’d be trickling in soon prior to their evening
assignments.
Cole scanned the expanse of nearly empty tables. No glimpse of
Stacy’s soft brown hair and full mouth. Perhaps she’d picked up her food and
taken it to the patio.
At that moment, a compactly built man finished paying for a cup
of coffee, and turned toward him. It was psychologist Laird Maclaine, a
specialist in fertility-related counseling to whom Cole sometimes referred
patients. When it came to emotional drama, he preferred to let an expert do the
hand-holding.
Laird gave him a friendly nod. “Just the fellow I wanted to
see. Any plans for tonight?”
“What’s up?” He and Laird both cycled to work and arrived at
the bike rack about the same time each morning. They often exchanged tips about
bike paths and repair shops.
“The Suncrest Saloon’s celebrating Elvis Presley night.”
“Is it his birthday or something?” What a coincidence if the
King of Rock ’n’ Roll shared that date with Stacy. Casting a glance toward the
patio doors, Cole realized he’d been thinking about asking her out for a drink.
This might be a good excuse.
“Nope, that’s January 8,” Laird replied cheerfully. “Doesn’t
everybody know that? Anyway, they do this every few months. Music by the King
and a twenty percent discount on Blue Hawaiians.”
